


The Secret of the Swiss Slopes

by autumnlouise



Series: Baby, It's Cold Outside [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Fluff, Sherlolly - Freeform, Sherlolly au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 11:12:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12886659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnlouise/pseuds/autumnlouise
Summary: When Molly Hooper and her best friend, Mary, take a vacation to the Swiss Alps, things don't exactly go as planned...





	The Secret of the Swiss Slopes

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, all! I'm Autumn, a writer and Sherlockian. This is the first piece I've published on Ao3, and it certainly won't be my last. This one shot is the first part of a collection of thirty-one winter themed Sherlolly drabbles I am planning to write over the month of December, so keep an eye out for more of my work over the next few days!  
> I'm a little rusty at writing one shots (I'm used to novels), so this is a bit longer than the rest will be. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this little piece of fluff!

Molly Hooper could never catch a break. It was almost as if the world just didn’t want to let her relax. At her job in the pathology department at St Barts Hospital, her lunch hours were frequently interrupted by Scotland Yard’s murder cases and constant needs to have a body examined. And since the department was short-staffed, Molly often worked overtime well into the night on busy days, filing paperwork, performing last-minute autopsies, and other miscellaneous morgue jobs. All of that, while seeming manageable at first, had eventually snowballed into sleep deprivation, sour moods, and being stressed beyond belief… to which her best friend, Mary Morstan, prescribed one (1) weekend of time away from work, on a girls trip with just the two of them.

So they had planned a four-day getaway to the Swiss Alps for the first weekend of December, an early Christmas present to the both of them. They would stay in a cozy little chalet at the base of one of the mountains and spend several days skiing, soaking up the sauna, and just enjoying time away. Molly had already felt more relaxed the moment they arrived in Switzerland, and the first two days of the trip did nothing but add to her peace. They’d been hanging out in their hotel room, watching TV, spending a combined total of several hours in the sauna, and getting facials and massages. She literally felt her stress melting away as the masseuse had worked out particularly large knots in her back and shoulders, stiff from hunching over corpses all day in the morgue.

On the third day, they finally decided to pull out their skis and hit the slopes. And that was when things– both literally and figuratively– began to go downhill.

Molly hadn’t been skiing since she was a little girl, so naturally she was rusty at first. She had made Mary start out with her on the smallest hills possible, and her friend laughed while Molly tried her hardest to use the poles properly and figure out how not to fall on her face. All the while, Mary skied in graceful figure eights around Molly- who knew she was such an avid winter athlete? “No, Molly, you have to lean more when you’re trying to turn!”

“Like this?” Molly tried to make a sharp right, but her body fell too far to the side and she only succeeded in flopping into the powdery white snow below.

“Oh, you should have told me you needed to go back to ski-school,” Mary joked as she reached down to help up  her friend. When they were both upright again, Mary pointed towards a few children learning how to glide down the hill without poles; Molly punched her in the arm and giggled.

It took at least an hour to finally get Molly steady enough on her skis to even consider leaving the bunny hill. After much coercing, Mary finally convinced Molly to go one of the longer- but still simple- hills with her. As they traipsed towards the lift- well, Mary was sailing smoothly along the firmly packed snow, while Molly was stuck trying to pull herself forward with the poles– Molly tried to make conversation.

“You don’t have to wait for me, you know.” she said, panting as she tried to catch up to Mary. Her friend veered to the side, coming to an abrupt and easy halt to give the newbie a chance to catch up. “I know you’re eager to get on the harder hills.”

Mary probably could have gone down the steepest, most daunting slope right that moment and come out unscathed. However, she merely shrugged and extended a hand to her friend. It was wonderful of her to be so patient with Molly. “Nonsense. We’re here together, so we’ll stay together. Besides, if I went off on my own, you would just go back inside straightaway.”

Molly had to admit that the latter was true.

“Here, take my hand. I’ll pull you.”

Not wanting to make her excitable friend wait any longer, Molly accepted the hand. Although she was slightly mortified that Mary had to tug her into the queue for the ski lift. She could barely see the contraption over the heads of the crowd, but what glimpses she caught looked… well, daunting. “Mary, how do you, um… get on?”

Mary finally let out the laugh she had been holding in all day. “Oh, it’s easier than it looks. You just have to stand on the platform, and then the lift comes down to scoop you up. I’ll help you get on since we’ll take the same one.”

“I should hope so.” Molly grumbled. “It was your idea to go further up the mountain.”

The queue moved fairly quickly despite how busy it was. Before even five minutes had gone by, the two friends had moved from the back of a rather long line to almost near the front. The two women in front of them walked over to the platform, waited for the lift, and then sat down into it just as it scooped them into the air. One of them pulled down the safety bar, and off they went, into the sky and up the mountain.

It didn’t look particularly hard. But Molly Hooper was known for being clumsy, and she just knew that if Mary didn’t go first, she would muck this up and embarrass the both of them.

“Mary,” Molly whispered, poking the blonde with her ski pole. “Would you-”

Ahead of them, the loading platform was empty. The operator shouted something in French and gestured for Molly to go forward. She shot a nervous glance back at Mary.

“Go ahead,” her friend said gently. She nudged her forward, and Molly slid towards the loading dock ungracefully but without falling. So far, so good, she thought. Now she just had to wait for Mary, and–

“Coming through!” someone yelled from the back of the line, and immediately the entire queue began to shout in protest. Molly glanced back- a group of men seemed to be shoving their way through towards the front of the line. Mary, instead of coming onto the lift, was staring wide-eyed as a rather tall man jumped the barrier.

“‘Scuse me, look out, pardon me,” he shouted apologies as he flew through the horde of rather annoyed people. “Don’t mind me, just have to get to the lift–”

_The lift!_

“Mary!” Molly cried, heart pounding. The metal bench was coming closer and closer, and Molly hadn’t the faintest of what she was supposed to do, and she didn’t have Mary there to pick her up if she fell. She gestured wildly at the operator, trying to tell him to stop, to wait, but he didn’t seem to understand her hand signals.

But before Mary could dash up onto the line, the shouting man nearly barreled her over and ran towards the loading area. The lift was coming around the corner now… it would hit her in three, two…

Three people yelled at the same time. “Mary!” Molly stared back at her friend, absolutely helpless and far more terrified than she should have been. Molly Hooper was an anxious person, and Mary knew that, and why had she thrown her to the wolves like this? Oh, she shouldn’t have done this, _why_ had she done this-

With only a second left before the lift scooped Molly up, the tall man crowed, “Apologies!” and took a flying leap towards her.

The operator screeched, “ _Arrête!_ ”

The combined collision of the man and the ski lift knocked the wind out of Molly. Her eyes had squeezed shut, and she expected to hit the ground at any moment- but the impact never came. A second later, she felt her skis dangle below her as she lost contact with the ground.

She opened one eye. Than another. She let out a squeak as she realized that the base of the mountain was now at least ten feet below her… and that there was an unfamiliar man sitting beside her on the bench.

“I’ll meet you at the top!” Mary was calling, but her voice was growing fainter, fainter… and then, another voice shouted- probably the friend of the leaping man- “You _dick_! Leave me all alone, then, why don’t you?”

 _What_ had just happened? Even though she was safely on the lift, remnants of her fear fluttered in her chest.  The man beside her laughed.

Molly scooted away from him ever-so-slightly. “That’s not very kind of you,” she stammered, unable to stop the trembling in her voice.

He stopped. And, halfway up the mountain, the ski lift did, too.

The whole world was quiet; the screeching of the lift’s gears had ceased, leaving only the whistling of the harsh December wind and the awkward silence between Molly and the stranger. When the wind blew hard enough, Molly could feel the lift sway back and forth. Her stomach jumped; what if they were stuck up here for hours? What if the cord holding the lift snapped, leaving her to plummet to her snowy death on the ski slope far below? She whimpered.

In response, the man beside her looked curiously at her and said, in perfect British English, “Double murder.”

“E-excuse me?”

His blue eyes were piercing as he looked her up and down. “Don’t worry.” he assured her in his posh accent. He was definitely a Briton, there was no doubt about it.“The lift is fine. We’re only stopped because there’s been an accident one of the slopes– but it wasn’t an accident at all. Completely planned and very well executed, I must say.”

Molly felt dizzy. He was telling her not to worry, even though someone had just _died?_ Who was this man, and how did he know so much about this supposed murder that was currently in progress? He didn’t look like he was here to enjoy the slopes, as he wasn’t dressed in the proper attire at all. He seemed to be wearing dress slacks with a black Belstaff wool coat, and he didn’t have any boots or skis on his person at all. But if he _wasn’t_ a skier, then what was he doing here– and why had he been so eager to get to the top of the mountain earlier? Molly swallowed and forced a wave of claustrophobia away.

Had she just gotten trapped in a ski lift with a _killer?_

She thought she might vomit, or hyperventilate- or both. Meanwhile, the man beside her was just fiddling with what looked to be his phone.

“Ah, damn,” he hissed after a few moments. “The cold’s killed my battery. Could you give me your mobile?”

Molly had a right to be hesitant, she told herself as she tried to lean further away from him. She looked at him warily and said nothing in response. They held an awkward stare for a few seconds, in which Molly got a clear look at his features for the first time– long, angular; handsome if not for the fact that he could be a serial killer. She bit her lip, and he snorted.

“Oh, stop worrying. I’m not the killer– if I were, do you really think I would have allowed you to stay in the lift this long? Witnesses. And how could I have come all the way from the crime scene in such a short span of time? It’s completely unreasonable.”

The tone in his voice was quite clearly condescending. Why did he have to talk down to her, make her feel inferior? She tried to sound confident when she opened her mouth, to show him that he didn’t bother her, but she only succeeded in squeaking like the meek little mouse she was. “You looked like you were in quite a hurry.”

“That’s because I was trying to _stop_ the murder,” he said impatiently, “Not _commit_ it. Now, will you please believe me when I say that I am not going to hurt you, and kindly hand me your mobile?”

Molly’s hands were shaking as she removed her phone from her coat pocket and gave it to him. He somehow was able to unlock it without her telling him the password, and his gloved fingers flew over the keys as he sent rapid-fire texts. “I _told_ Lestrade. Told him it would happen.” he grumbled “He always sees, but never observes…”

The pathologist’s interest piqued. Lestrade? She was almost certain that was the name of the detective she often worked with at Barts. He’d requested that she examine bodies for several cases of his, and even asked her to dinner once. But then he’d gotten back with his wife and nothing had come of it. It had been embarrassing at best. She hoped he hadn’t told anyone- least of all this man- about that. “Do you mean Greg Lestrade? From Scotland Yard?”

He wrinkled his nose. “Greg? I was sure it was Graham. Ah, well. Yes, he’s the one.” he glanced over at her curiously. “If you know Lestrade, then surely you must know me, Doctor?”

She froze. Involved with a murder, privy to the staff of Scotland Yard, and now he knew that she was a doctor? She hadn’t uttered a word about that, had never seen this man before in her life. It made her feel a bit unsettled. “H-how did you know…”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Easy. A woman like you would only know Lestrade from one of two places: the bedroom or the workplace. Your bumbling personality indicates low self-confidence, eliminating the possibility of being one of Lestrade’s usual post-divorce lovers. Therefore, you must know him from his job– and since there is, blessedly, only one female sergeant in his division, and your phone contained several e-mails from Mike Stamford at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, I was able to deduce that you are the leading pathologist at said hospital and work frequently with Grayson on his cases.” he smiled fleetingly, but it was obnoxiously artificial. “Wonderful to meet you, Molly Hooper.”

Oh, my God. So much had happened in the span of a few seconds- he’d insulted her a few times, deduced her identity, and attempted to explain the process to her… she couldn’t wrap her head around it. How could someone possibly _think_ that quickly, let alone at that level of precision, all the time? She was angry and amazed at his accuracy at the same time. “Y-you could have gotten all of that from my p-p-phone.” she accused.

He looked over, and the expression that played on his lips was one of genuine pleasure- even if slight. “Would your phone be able to tell me that you have recently kicked a caffeine addiction– one that you have fostered since medical school– and that you have been _dying_ for a cup of coffee all morning?”

“How…?” Molly blinked a few times in shock. _That_ was something he could not make up or find on her phone. He had to be telling the truth. This man… he really was _that_ smart. It was infuriating and slightly attractive all at once… not unlike his smile. Now that she was confident in the fact that he was not a serial killer, she found it slightly more acceptable to acknowledge that he was good looking.

Very. Good. Looking.

She hadn’t even said anything, and already she was blushing  again.

He pulled up the sleeve of both his Belstaff and the dress shirt underneath, revealing several nicotine patches on the inside of his right wrist. “Like calls to like.”

Ah, a nicotine addict– he would recognize the little signs of withdrawal that an ordinary person wouldn’t. She _had_ been having trouble with her caffeine headaches over the past days, as she’d quit cold turkey before they left for Switzerland. The confusion was beginning to wear off, and was replaced by a mixture of fascination and frustration. “W-who are y-you?” she cursed herself for stuttering. Why did she have to be so _nervous_ around him, even after he’d assured her that no harm would come to her?

She told herself it was just from the cold.

“Sherlock Holmes. High-functioning sociopath and the world’s only consulting detective at your service.” he handed the cell phone back to her. “Here you are.”

Their gloved hands brushed as she took the phone back from him. Molly shook her head; being confined in a tiny lift for this long was doing funny things to her mind. She didn’t find him attractive. He didn’t see her as anything more than annoyance, a code to be broken and then tossed away once he was bored with it.

But something about him fascinated her, made her want to keep talking. “If you work with Scotland Yard, why haven’t I seen you before?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I don’t come into Barts often. Boring. Why waste the time when I can examine a body just the same from a photograph?”

Molly almost gasped out loud. How could you examine a corpse from a _picture?_ All of the intricacies of the internal human body, the puzzle of figuring out what had killed the person on the table… it was gone if you reduced it to a picture. So she told him so. “It’s more interesting. To see it in person.” Yes, she told him so, but then immediately regretted it because _what man would want to have a conversation about dead bodies?_ But then she remembered that who she was talking to wasn’t exactly normal, and she wondered if maybe he would like to stop by Barts if he could see the process for himself… “You’re welcome to come and watch an autopsy if you want, I could open the morgue for you…”

“A kind offer. One that I very well may be unable to refuse, as I am running low on both cases and cigarettes as of late.” His eyes twinkled with something that looked like mischief. Just at that moment, the metal rods holding the lift in the air gave a massive _creeeeeeakkk_ , and the ski lift once again began to move. Molly let out a sigh of relief and a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She was going to kiss the ground as soon as they reached the top of the mountain. Part of her had thought they would just be stuck up there forever.

Sherlock corrected himself as the lift began to move again. “Well, I shall be low on cases in a few moments, as I am about to solve this one.”

Molly laughed a little, the kind of awkward giggle she hated to use in front of people. Cheeks burning, she looked down at her feet and tried her best not to think of Sherlock’s presence beside her. All he seemed to do was make her trip over her words, blurt out the first things she thought of… it was like she’d lost her mind in those few minutes they’d conversed.

Mercifully, he was quiet for the rest of the trip up the mountain.

“Well, it was lovely to meet you.” and there went her mouth again, running ahead without thinking, as usual. She was so embarrassed, it was almost like being in secondary school again and asking Peter Jones to the winter dance… she cringed just thinking about that. But even so, she couldn’t stop talking.

Sherlock nodded in response.

“I, erm… well, you know where to find me.  The morgue is always… um… open.” _Why would he see examining dead bodies together as enjoyable?_ She mentally slapped herself. Why did she even want to see him again anyways? They barely knew each other. They’d barely conversed.

But it still somehow been enough to make her want more of his company.

They’d arrived at the top of the mountain now, and Sherlock  lifted up the restraining bar as the lift came to a slow stop. He slid out of his seat easily, while Molly lost her balance and tried not to fall flat on her face. She only succeeded in keeping herself upright by helicopter waving her arms; that made Sherlock smile and Molly blush again.

“I suspect I shall see you again very soon.” he said. “Until then, do try not to get yourself killed on those blasted skis, Molly Hooper. I may be in need of a pathologist after all.”

And he turned and whipped away the moment their feet touched the ground, the bottom of his coat flapping in the wind as he went. Molly was left staring at the place where he had been with wide eyes and an open mouth, stuck in some sort of trance.

She only snapped out of it when the next lift arrived, bringing with it Mary and Sherlock’s companion from earlier. The two of them slid off of the loading area and Mary crashed straight into Molly, squealing as the two of them tried to stay on their feet. “Molly! Get out of the way, dear.” She giggled and looked over at the man with a worn-looking face and sandy blond hair, who she had clearly conversed with on the ride up. He, too, was not wearing skis or proper snow attire, and looked quite peeved to be out in the cold and ditched by his friend.

If anyone could call Sherlock Holmes their friend.

“Bloody arsehole left me in the dust again.” he was muttering, glancing around for Sherlock. Mary patted his shoulder sympathetically.

“Cheer up, luv,” she let her hand linger on his arm a bit longer than she usually would have. Was Mary… _flirting?_ “He can’t have gone far, John, and the two of you will be inside and warmed up soon enough.”

The man- John- looked down at Mary and smiled a little. “Yes, quite right.” he said, pulling his jacket a little tighter around himself. “I should be going- there is a murder to solve, after all. I’ll see you tonight?”

Mary waved all five fingers in farewell as John turned to leave. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

As soon as Mary’s newfound _friend_ was gone, Molly turned to her and grabbed her by the shoulders. “ _What_ ,” she demanded, “was _that?_ ”

The blonde nudged her playfully before gliding away on her skis. “It’s called flirting, dear,” she called back, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Why don’t you come along tonight with tall, dark, and handsome? We can make it a double.”

Molly shrieked in protest as she stuck her poles into the ground and chased after Mary. “You take that back!” she cried. But in reality… some part of her wouldn’t mind going on a date with the mysterious detective. Another part of her actually yearned for it.

But Sherlock had made it very clear that he was deeply involved in his work, and his offer to visit her at the Barts morgue sounded pitying, if anything. But that didn’t matter now- she was here to have fun with Mary, not daydream about consulting detectives. So she tried not to break her legs from falling down the mountain as she slowly, but surely, followed Mary down the slope.

Later that night, after she had removed the ski boots from her aching feet, retired to her room, and helped Mary prepare for her date with John, her phone buzzed with a text. It was not from Mary, as she had expected, but an unknown number.

_Homicide case in London. I await your return for assistance in examining the bodies. –SH_

Molly smiled a little. She was pleased that the ski-lift meeting wouldn't be the last she saw of Sherlock Holmes after all... and she couldn't deny it.


End file.
